The Planet Thieves

by Dan Krokos

  And now here the king was, in the flesh, or whatever Tremist were made of underneath their suits. Mason ducked back quickly before the king saw him.

  “What do you see?” Tom whispered, almost too quiet to hear. The three of them were crouched in the corridor, out in the open.

  Mason shook his head. A choice lay before him. If he could kill the king, that might change the entire war. Like cutting the head off a snake. Yet better soldiers than him had tried and failed over the years. Would the element of surprise be enough to win out? The rest of the Tremist would certainly kill Mason right away, but wouldn’t that be worth it?

  In the ESC they always talked about self-sacrifice for Earth’s cause, but he’d never thought about what that actually meant until now. Susan had told him once that bravery was when you wanted to pee your pants, but you kept fighting. You did the right thing, no matter how much your hands shook.

  Mason could do that. He could try. Peering around the corner again, he saw no one had moved. The king had turned his back, showing his cape.

  Merrin and Tom leaned around the corner above him, so if anyone looked, they’d see three heads stacked together. When they resumed crouching, Merrin and Tom were doing their best impressions of statues, wide-eyed like gargoyles.

  The king! Tom mouthed.

  “Here’s the plan,” Mason whispered. “You run back to our room and get the other cadets to the escape shuttles.”

  “You’re not coming?” Merrin said a little too loudly, before clapping a hand over her mouth, which also made too much noise.

  Mason winced, but there were no pounding footsteps heading for them; he was thankful for the continual background thrum all ESC ships made while powered up.

  “It doesn’t make sense for all of us to get captured.” He didn’t add or killed.

  Merrin shook her head. “We all go, or we all stay.”

  Then, from the bridge, Mason heard someone say, “Captain, I’ve given you three minutes to confess.”

  “I don’t care how much time you give me,” Susan said.

  “Tell me where the weapon was moved to.” It was the king; Mason was sure. His voice came out oddly cold and crisp, like a computer-generated voice; it was possible he spoke the Tremist language, and the mask was translating. Two seconds later, Mason realized what the king had actually said. Judging from that sentence alone, the king was looking for a weapon aboard the Egypt. What kind of weapon, Mason had no clue.

  “Kiss antimatter,” Susan said.

  “If you make me search, I will scatter your atoms in such a way that it will be like you never existed at all.”

  The same way his parents had died. No.

  Mason started to move for the door, but Merrin grabbed him. She was strong, her grip like a vise. “Wait,” she hissed in his ear.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Susan said to the king.

  Mason heard something smack, and Susan moaned in pain. He wanted to move so badly, but the timing had to be right. He would know when. He had to know when.

  Slowly, Mason edged around the corner once more and saw the king looming over his sister. He spoke English perfectly, with a slight accent that sounded British. The Tremist language was supposed to be guttural, and sounded like Ancient German.

  “Very well,” the king replied, sounding resigned. “I will ask the new captain after you’re dead.”

  Mason watched the king lift his talon and point it at Susan’s face.

  Chapter Seven

  Mason didn’t think about what to do next; it was automatic. He stepped onto the bridge and raised his P-cannon with both hands. He was vaguely aware of the other Tremist on the ship, standing behind the other kneeling ESC soldiers.

  They didn’t matter. All Mason saw was the king.

  Relax, breathe, aim.

  He squeezed the trigger, and a ball of hot yellow light burst from the gun and slammed into the center of the king’s cape, setting it smoking.

  The king didn’t even flinch, just slowly turned his head until Mason could see into the deep nothingness of his face. There were no visible eyes, yet Mason could feel them on his skin.

  He fired again; this time the ball crackled greenish as it hissed across the bridge. The king sidestepped and the ball dissipated on the clear dome harmlessly.

  “And what is this?” the king said, sounding amused.

  He lowered the talon from Susan, who screamed, “MASON, RUN!”

  Mason fired again with shaking hands, trying his best to hit center mass. The king seemed to know exactly when Mason was about to fire, though, and he simply leaned to the side. The ball shot past the king’s arm, almost hitting a Tremist behind him.

  Before Mason could fire again, two yellowish balls flew in from the doorway. Merrin and Tom were there, P-cannons raised. They both hit the king squarely, but he took no notice. His red armor seemed to drink in the energy; remnants of it crackled down his arms and legs before fading.

  The Tremist King was gigantic, easily seven feet tall, but lithe, like one of the huge cats you could once find in Earth’s jungles. The king reached over his shoulder and grabbed his cape, then tore it from his back and waved it in front of him. It caught fire as two more photon balls smashed into it.

  “Grab them!” the king shouted.

  Two Tremist rushed in from the sides and ripped the guns from Tom and Merrin, then pushed them to the floor.

  Mason fired again, and the king dodged, dancing a step closer. The P-cannon was getting hot now. He waited, letting it cool so the next projectile came at max power. He felt the vibration building against his palm: Almost there.

  “This must be what passes for a soldier of the Earth Space Command,” the king observed, taking another stride. He turned his head toward Merrin and Tom, as they tried to struggle to their feet. Which was difficult, considering they both had a Tremist boot on their backs.

  So Mason fired a final time …

  And hit the king right between the eyes. The black oval swallowed the ball whole, not even a spark or a sputter. Much like the previous shots, it seemed to do no harm. The armor was still thirsty. Then the king was behind Mason, twisting the P-cannon away and crushing it in his palm. The gun released a small puff of blue-green light that left tattoos on Mason’s retinas. The smell of the king’s burnt suit filled the room, like hot, charred plastic and scorched metal. He grabbed Mason’s shoulder and dug his fingers in until spears of pain shot down Mason’s arm.

  The hot tip of the talon nestled against Mason’s ear. “Captain,” the king said smoothly behind him. “Unless you want to be responsible for the death of this young cadet, tell me where the weapon is. You have three seconds.”

  “It’s in the main storage bay,” Susan said at once. “I can take you.” Her lower lip trembled slightly, but then she made her face a hard mask. A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, the only tear Mason had seen her make since the memorial for the victims of the First Attack.

  Mason wanted to die. Whatever the weapon was, Susan only told the king because he’d been stupid enough to get caught. The blame was on him now.

  He tried to imagine what the weapon was, but that would be like trying to guess how many stars were in a quadrant. Pointless. But it made him feel cold just the same. It was important enough for the Tremist King to want it, to actually be here. It was important enough for Susan to make no mention of it. It was important enough to just be called weapon, instead of a proper name.

  And now Susan was handing it over. Mason could not let that happen, no matter what.

  Every eye was on the king, and Mason couldn’t help himself. He twisted out of the king’s grasp and looked up at his face. Up close, he expected to see damage to the mask, some scorching or smoke, but there was nothing. He couldn’t tell if it was a black surface, or just a hole. Mason expected the king to grab him again, but the king paid him no attention.

  He was staring at Merrin Solace.

  Like he knew her.

  “
I don’t believe it,” the king said.

  Chapter Eight

  “Let her up,” the king commanded.

  The Tremist did as they were told, but stayed close. Merrin brushed herself off and glared at the king, her violet eyes blazing with defiance. There was no fear in her, it seemed, just anger. But her shoulders were bunched, and Mason knew why: having not one but two Tremist behind you, that close … He imagined the nearest one ripping his mirror-mask off and burying a mouthful of needle teeth into Merrin’s neck.

  “Your name,” the king said.

  “Merrin Solace, what’s yours?” She tried to sound cool, but the shake in her voice was noticeable. Mason knew it was more from adrenaline, not fear.

  A cadet had mistaken her tears of frustration for fear once during a hand-to-hand exercise, and called her out in front of the whole class. Merrin Solace is a crybaby! he said. The Ghoul is afraid! “Ghoul” was the nickname she was given for the near translucence of her skin. Merrin asked to be partnered with him for the rest of the day. He was very sorry by the end of it.

  The king exhaled; through his mask it sounded raspy. This close, it was impossible not to wonder what the mask hid.

  “Could someone let me up?” Tom said quietly.

  To the Tremist behind her, the king said, “Take her to my quarters. Post a guard of three. Go.” Merrin’s mouth fell open. Her eyes locked on Mason’s, widening, and she almost cried for help. Mason saw her about to do it: she started to form a word with her lips; a brief sound escaped her throat. But she cut it off by shutting her mouth. The two Tremist yanked her backward out of the doorway. Mason almost said No! out loud, almost charged forward, but he swallowed the word and kept still. His training kept him rooted, even though his body yearned to fight. It would do no good to get killed now, when he might have the chance to help Merrin and the rest of the crew later on. Why in the galaxy would the king want Merrin not just on his ship, but in his quarters?

  “Really, I would like to stand now,” Tom said.

  To Susan, the king said, “Captain, lead my men to the weapon.” He patted Mason on the shoulder. “Or this one dies first.” The king picked up his fallen cape and reattached it at the shoulders, even though it had a gaping hole. Men, he had called the Tremist—Lead my men. They were no men. Mason wanted to spit on the ground at the idea. Men didn’t threaten an unarmed soldier.

  “Understood,” Susan said as the Tremist hauled her to her feet.

  Tom, making sure no one was about to stick a boot on his back again, slowly stood up too.

  Susan left the bridge with her escort, just behind Merrin and hers, but not before she made eye contact with Mason a final time. The look said, Don’t do anything stupider than you’ve already done.

  The king stepped around Mason and kneeled in front of Tom, so their faces were about level. He set his talon on the floor next to his feet, showing his entire back to Mason. Clearly, Mason wasn’t a threat. “And you must be the former captain’s son. I regret the captain died before she could give me authorization to the Egypt’s main computer. You will help me with that.” He clapped Tom on his upper arms and gave them a squeeze. “And you won’t make me hurt you. Let’s skip the denials—I know all crew are required to have authorization in an emergency.” His voice was perfectly pleasant. As if he was just asking Tom how to operate one of the quick-heaters in the galley.

  The part of Mason that was a soldier before everything else, the part he hoped would grow as he got older, was thinking tactically. With the three Tremist escorting his sister to the storage bay, and two escorting Merrin, that left two Tremist on the bridge, plus the king himself. Mason knew he couldn’t do anything to the king with his hands alone, but maybe he could scoop up the king’s talon in time and fire another shot while the king was distracted. Maybe the talon would cut through his armor in a way the P-cannons could not.

  “I could help you with that,” Tom said. “But first you have to go to hell.”

  The king actually laughed, but it sounded like a cough through his mask. “Very good, very good. You are a brave soldier.”

  Mason inched closer. The talon rested next to the king’s knee. Was he fast enough? Was it the right move? He tried to imagine what Susan would do. Being brave was one thing, but making a decision that would put others in harm was another. It was a question of what would happen if he failed.

  He needed a distraction to even the odds, one big enough for him to escape with Tom.

  It was too late to save Merrin: she was already off the bridge. To the king’s own quarters, where who knew what would happen to her. Susan needed his help too, but she had a better chance of taking care of herself. And she would tell him to rescue Merrin first, because that’s who she was.

  Tom didn’t laugh with the king. “You killed my mother.”

  The king nodded solemnly. “I’ve killed many mothers.” The talon was still on the ground. Three feet away, at most. Mason visualized the steps he would make. Taking one big step, then grabbing the talon with both hands, then stepping away again before the king could whirl and overpower him. He would have to point it at the king and press the right button, hoping the weapon wasn’t locked to a specific user the way some ESC guns were. Firing the talon might kill him on the spot.

  Then Mason remembered what the king had said: in the event of a Tremist boarding, the ship was designed to unlock itself to all crew. Normally Mason wouldn’t have access to any settings on the ship, but he was hoping that was no longer true. Captain Renner would have activated that function right away, and even if she hadn’t, Elizabeth was programmed to do it herself if she deemed the danger level high enough. Mason thought this was about as dangerous as it got.

  Now was the time. The king himself had given them an escape route.

  “Elizabeth,” Mason said.

  There was a chirp, followed by Elizabeth saying, “Yes, Cadet Stark?”

  The king looked over his shoulder lazily, like a lion amused that his prey had wandered close enough for an easy kill.

  “Lights out,” Mason said.

  Every light on the bridge winked out, blanketing them in darkness. The stars were suddenly bright and vivid above them, mixed with the purple streaks of an ancient nebula. Each of the consoles still flickered brightly, but otherwise Mason was hidden.

  Until the air lit up with crisscrossing green beams from multiple talons.

  “The shaft!” Tom shouted at Mason.

  Mason was already heading there. Every room in the Egypt had two points of entry, in case the normal doorway led to an area that was damaged or without oxygen. If the hallway outside the bridge was damaged and the crew couldn’t escape that way, a shaft on the bridge would allow them to drop down to a level that was still sealed.

  “Stop them!” the king snarled in the darkness. Mason heard his cape flutter, and imagined the king’s steel-hard fingers digging into him again. The shaft was in the back of the bridge, near the exit. Mason tried to visualize the room when it was brightly lit, but he felt disoriented, almost dizzy with the rush of adrenaline. He had to make it the whole way through the darkness, with enemies all around.

  “Open the shaft, Elizabeth!” Mason shouted, running in what he hoped was the right direction.

  A hole of light opened in the floor, and Mason dived through headfirst. He heard Tom hit the tube behind him and yell some command to Elizabeth. The shaft dropped straight down for a level, then curved and dumped them into one of many corridors that connected the two halves of the ship. They slid out right onto a moving track, like the one outside the cadet quarters.

  Mason hit the track hard, somersaulting as it scrolled under him, as if he’d jumped from a moving object. Tom landed even harder a few paces back; Mason heard the wind get knocked out of him, and when he looked, Tom was on his back, arms and legs flailing like a flipped turtle. Once he got his bearings, Mason saw that the walkway was taking them to engineering, not crew. The starboard side of the ship, where Merrin and Susan would be. Perfe
ct.

  “Did it seal behind us?” Mason said breathlessly. He stood up and grabbed onto the moving railing as the wind rushed in his ears, then grabbed Tom’s hand to pull him upright.

  Tom was grinning. “Not at the top. But I asked Elizabeth to shut the bottom, so whoever came after us is trapped inside the tube.” That made Mason smile too.

  The windows blurred by too fast for Mason to see much out of, but they were nearing the end, where the segmented parts of the track would slow them until they could comfortably jog into engineering.

  “We need to take the track back to crew,” Tom said, nodding at the parallel track moving in the opposite direction. “My mother told me that if anything happened…” He swallowed. “To her. And the crew. If something happened, it was my responsibility to see the cadets safely off ship.”

  If anything happened. Was that a precaution, or had she expected something to happen?

  Mason didn’t say, But your mother isn’t captain anymore.

  “They’re fine,” Mason said.

  “I don’t care if they’re fine—they’re still on the ship, so they won’t be for long. And how can you say that when you really have no clue, do you?”

  The track began to slow.

  “I don’t. But we can’t let my sister give them the weapon. That’s the most important thing. You know it too.”

  “What was the king talking about?” Tom said. “What weapon? The Egypt is supposed to be a diplomatic vessel between rival ESC bases. She wouldn’t be carrying something just called the weapon.”

  “So you don’t know everything, do you?” Mason couldn’t help but grin.